The Song of My People

It’s a funny quip I see on the internet here and there.  “Listen while I will sing you the song of my people.”  No, you don’t want ME to sing it, but there is one.  It has many different melodies but one rhythm.  It’s a heartbeat that remembers something long ago forgotten.

The last few months I’ve been reading much about Native American culture and thought.  One writer tried to explain about how much had been lost to them, yet at the same time there is a genetic memory still there that resonates with certain things; the land, a drum, a song, the smile and wisdom of an elder.

My people give very little thought to our origins.  We have adopted a young nation as our homeland, our ancestors having left theirs to come here and build a new life.  In that quest, they gradually dropped customs and languages that united them before.  But one thing remains.  Music.

The music that moves me the most deeply comes from the same part of the world as my ancestors.  It is a feeling of “home” and almost of heaven as well.  I don’t experience that too often.  I wonder if the Creator calls all the nations of the world through music?  Wouldn’t that be an amazing way to connect to Him and one another?  I really love the music from many cultures, and in that way I greatly value them too.  It’s hard to imagine people going to war when sharing this expression of our spirits.  I see heaven as a place where everyone is rejoicing in the distinct ways in which they were created, with the Creator.

These thoughts wandered in and out of my mind last night as the songs carried me into a spiritual place of an unknown dimension, but at the same time had my feet dancing on the earth.  A glimpse of light in spite of all that is dark in the world.

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